Time On Our Side
by slothmccall
Summary: Alice Stilinski is far from surprised when she finds herself thrown back in time all thanks to her twin brothers' boyfriend. Alan, too, is not surprised how quick Alice is to help out their parents' younger selves when dead bodies begin to show up around town.


**Preface**

Alice had been sitting in the chaise for thirty minutes now, staring blankly at the empty wall in front of her. They held no ornaments and their blinding whiteness was driving her crazy. Or crazier maybe. Still, she thought about the way psychologists and psychiatrists' offices were supposed to look and she couldn't help but feel oppressed by the lack of normalcy there seemed to be here. She supposed her discomfort was of her own making. Morrell hadn't asked her to come into session early, yet, waiting for her in the eeriness of this room was better than coming in as Morrell waited for her, her unwavering gaze on her from the moment she stepped into the room, without reprieve.

Alice's hand twitched, yearning to feel the cool metal of the dagger she kept hidden on the side of her boot. _Kept._ She straightened her fingers, extending them as much as she could to relieve the sudden uncomfortable feeling that overcame their emptiness. It wasn't that she didn't remember that she no longer carried the weapons with her. Or that she refused to even bring them with her, deciding instead to leave them home. Her mind remembered perfectly fine; it wouldn't let her forget. Muscle memory, however, was a bit trickier to control. The alertness that had been ingrained in her at a very young age had now become a tool used against her by her paranoia and anxiety. She could no longer trust it as she did before to survive much like she couldn't trust anything about herself.

Alice heard the sound of heels clicking in the hallway and soon after the lock gave way to the door creaking open. She immediately let her shoulders go slack, crossing her legs at the ankles and flexing her fingers on her lap, resuming her still position. She almost spared a glance down at her hands. _Almost_. She exhaled and fixed her stare at the Newton's cradle on the desk. She couldn't afford to lose focus when Morell was already in the room.

Morell did not seem surprised to see Alice sitting at her usual spot before the time of their scheduled weekly sessions. In fact, she ignored Alice completely. She hung her coat at the entrance and walked past her to sit on her chair. She stored her handbag in the second locked drawer of her too big desk and straightened out her skirt; when she was done with all these things she folded her hands neatly on her desk and looked at Alice, smiling kindly. At least, Alice supposed that if she didn't know her better she'd call it kind. But while she knew that Morell was not unkind, she knew she was no angel. Not in her youth and definitely not now. The smile was supposed to be reassuring.

It was wasted on her.

Morell didn't write anything down during their time together. It used to make her uneasy, having her undivided attention, her eyes unflinchingly staring at her trying to decode her thoughts. If Alice had been anyone else, she was sure she would have been squirming in her seat, fiddling with anything she could get her fingers on. As it was though, she had remained outwardly stoic, her turmoil hidden behind the mask of indifference she wore like a second skin. She had asked her about it once. Their early sessions had been filled with silences after Morell's prodding questions and small talk had been met with empty stares but Alice had made it a point to not leave without a comment or a question at the end. She'd reasoned that if she did this it wouldn't be a complete waste of time and that Morell technically couldn't say that she didn't speak in their sessions.

So she had asked.

"I don't want to have any distractions between us." She had responded. Alice didn't really care except that she'd been thinking that Morell didn't write anything in front of her so that she wouldn't be able to read it. Either way, the point was moot as nothing happened in their sessions so she nodded and turned to leave.

Today was different. It was their last meeting of the week and last time Alice had been in the room she'd broken the silence, not with a goodbye comment or question but with something real this time. Granted, it hadn't been anything of substance. Mostly, new occurrences and Nate's weekly update of Kai. But it had been something. More words had been spoken than in the previous month alone.

Today though, neither of them really knew if she'd stick to this routine. In the end Alice knew that she'd either have to work up the strength to dig out the words rooted inside her or she'd choke on them and the clawing feeling would never leave. Finding said strength, however, was easier said than done. She couldn't bring herself to jump straight into the details of her mental derailment and break. Instead, she brings up the one thing that's been on her mind since arriving to the small office.

"It's the walls." She starts, "They're too white and too empty. Shouldn't you have positive quotes hanging on every other wall?" Alice asked the woman sitting in front of her while fixing her with a penetrating look

"Last time you were here you said the couch was too soft." The woman dismissed Alice's complaints yet, the hint of amusement touched the corner of her lips.

Mrs. Marin Morrell was a great psychoanalyst along with many other things, and her particular experience with the supernatural gave her a certain edge which was exactly what had her sitting here, staring unblinkingly at Alice as Alice stared unblinkingly at the ceiling.

"I like to complain. Give you something to think about." Said Alice.

"In that case, how about you tell me what happened?" Morrell rolled back her shoulders and folded her hands over her lap. She was persistent, Alice could give her that, but it would take more than persistence to talk about the last few months and yet here she was giving her an easy way in. She knew she'd have to tell her everything at one point but knowing did not make it easier. Knowing left a knot in her stomach. The thought of bringing the memories to life again with words made her skin crawl.

Alice breathed out. She relaxed her hands, cupping her knees instead.

"Where do I start?" She shifted her focus to Morell.

She smiled again. "Where do you want to start?"

Alice flinched as too many possible memories crept up to the surface, many of them still too fresh and painful for her to deal with in any productive way.

"How about we start with something easy? Start before your story begins." Morrell added as she observed the way Alice's body tensed with the slightest reminder of the last few months.

Alice squinted, taking a minute to really focus on the woman present before answering her, concentrating on her rather than the buzzing emptiness of the four walls surrounding them. The way she kept her palms eerily still on her thighs and the fact that her black pencil skirt had no sign or trail of specks of lint, the way her straight black hair shined off the natural light coming in from between the blinders. She was still. Part of Alice realized that the lack of sudden movements was for her benefit, but another part of her had already decided that this was Marin Morrell herself. Maybe you had to be intimidatingly still in front of a former psychotic killer. Former applying to the psychotic part.

_Focus. _

_Look for before._

Before when her life had been a version of simple. When she had the pack and the hunters. When she didn't avoid her family or her friends. _When_ she had friends. When she could look at her hands without seeing blood on them. When she didn't have hundreds of memories of inflicting pain on innocent people. When her biggest worries had been keeping the hunters and the pack separate, and her brother from being involved with the Delacroix boy.

_Right._ The witches.

Alice nodded, her brow furrowed in concentration. "It started with the witches"


End file.
